The Box From Melpomene
by HopelessOsaka
Summary: [Rixas] [AU] “Don’t ever open it.” But as they drift along in a place too unreal, this was just for his own deception. [Two–part drabble]


**Disclaimer:** (Herbal) Osaka-neechan does not own Kingdom Heart.

**Author:** (Herbal) Osaka-neechan

**Focus pairing:** Riku/Roxas

**Characters:** Riku, Roxas

**Content warning:** YAOI; suicide

**Storyline warning:** Alternate universe; angst of people who don't know _when_ to commit suicide.. ››;;

**Summary:** "Don't ever open it." But as they drift along in a place too unreal, this was just for his own deception.

**Point of view:** Riku, Roxas

**Perspective:** Third person (The few of Osaka-nee's..)

_The conceptual corner:_ When something unnamed is hidden someplace, you wonder what that unnamed something is— but the place where it is hidden is more curious, to the author of this piece.

The title actually refers to Pandora's box… really, a jar or vase or something… being a possession of Melpomene, the Muse of tragedy who sings rather joyously despite the fact. There is no reason to believe this is correct, but as Zeus or Hermes just _gave_ the box to Pandora as far as Osaka-neechan is concerned, there could be a bit more to the myth she could add.

This piece had a swift though languorous finish, and if anybody notices anything too off, please mention it in a review. If there are any questions, these, after this sentence, are probably it— but check _the dictionary corner_, too..

Osaka-nee has no idea who the King is, but you do. Osaka-nee _does_ know that he is a complete bastard. And a whore.

Also, yes, there _are_ other sex slaves… but this is an alternated universe's tragedy of Riku and Roxas, right?

_The reception corner:_ There is anachronism, yo— like Samurai Champloo, where there are gangstas in a Japan there shouldn't be, and Sayuki, where all things are in a place and time they most likely shouldn't be. And when Osaka-nee yo's at you, it is a Reno "yo." Totally.

Someday Osaka-nee will finish some chaptered fanfiction that do not actually exist in her account, or, more plausible for some future in which quesadilla are in a near vicinity to her, a long-ass one-shot… _yo_. :D

FYI, Osaka-nee believes this drabbly-shot is pretty. Enough. Probably.

_The dictionary corner:_

_Chimerical:_

1. Created by or as if by a wildly fanciful imagination; highly improbable.

2. Given to unrealistic fantasies; fanciful if visionary.

_Anachronism:_ From the Greek "_ανά_," "against," and "_χρόνος_," "time," it is anything that is temporally incongruous—that is, it appears in a temporal context in which it seems sufficiently out of place as to be peculiar, incomprehensible or impossible. The item is often an object, but may be a verbal expression, a technology, a philosophical idea, a musical style, a material, a custom, or anything else closely enough bound to a particular period as to seem odd outside it. Wikipedia, the free encylopedia

_Miasma:_ From Greek "_miainein_," meaning _to pollute_; a dangerous, foreboding, or deathlike influence or atmosphere. Dictionary(dot)com

_Judas' kiss:_ A deceitful and treacherous kiss. Dict(dot)die(dot)net

The crackpot corner: Next life - RIKU: Four-eyes grey-sweatered bookworm - ROXAS: Cute soccer twin of Sora

XD

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**THE BOX FROM MELPOMENE  
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_i. miasma_

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When Riku was fourteen, they'd brought in another. His name was Roxas and he was nine— he was too young to do much, but he had moist blue irises that would melt a man, soft skin for anyone to touch, and full lips could leave the aristarch convulsing… when he learned properly. When Riku _taught _him properly.

He sat on the bed, a size larger than the King's and stuffed in feather. Riku knelt in front of him on plush carpet over mahogany.

"Here is the key to the top drawer of the vanity." It stood sleek and white and trimmed in gold in the far side of the room. No sorts of furniture of such grandeur stood against walls in the room… only if it formed a triangular space in corners.

His thumb, a bump still lingering from a former working life, yellowed Roxas' faded pink palm in passing the key. His hand then rose, running it under the boy's jaw, warm and coarse, while moist blues watched him, imploring.

"_Don't ever open it._" whispered Riku.

_Don't ever leave me alone._

That night in bed, he held the boy tightly, ensnared in magnificence too chimerical.

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_ii. judas' kiss_

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When Roxas was fourteen, he stumbled inside their room. He rushed, but nearly fell from a twist of ankle, a hand flung frantically for the bed's back railing.

His insides _burned_. He leaned against the bed of his and Riku, body drawn in as he shook. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, _it hurt_, and he didn't want to feel this anymore— to feel the King anymore.

Stony blues refused moist… had refused moist for a long time. But as he limped towards the vanity— hand in a straining clutch as spasms of flares inside ruptured along the waistline— wet warmth stung, dripping off under-lashes before slipping down ruddy cheeks.

He was still a small boy. He was still a small boy, and his skin was rawer than soft, full lips a bruised swollen, and at times, they bled. His nose was a bit squashed and crooked, because it'd been broken much.

Roxas longed. He longed for when those touches were gentle, and stains were not red. He longed for lips that were hot, trailing shivery tingles on his skin, not damp in chap sticks that had him in shudders, ripping and waiting for screams to keep muffled. He longed for before he stopped being too young, and Riku was an embrace of an older lover.

Riku had grown cold these years. Riku was no longer beside him, as he would serve the days as Roxas served the nights… but… but sometimes, Riku would be behind Roxas on that other bed, fucking him.

He put a salt-streaked cheek slowly against the vanity mirror that stubbornly hung onto fingertips of only his and Riku's. It'd grown wiser over years to dull its sleek, and there was a bottom drawer a bit unhinged.

Roxas tore the key slung around his neck and managed a rattling click on the top drawer's phlegmatic lock.

It was there— unpolished yet gleaming. He cocked it in a trembling hand, moist blues staring.

The ring of the pistol echoed for awhile, the mirror of the vanity in blood-speckled pieces. The fluid streamed down from his temple as his body staggered and collapsed in a tremulous thud; began pooling wetly on plush.

And Riku was left alone weeping as he writhed underneath the King.

That night, he sat wrapped in a fetal position tightly, lost in magnificence too chimerical.

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**END**

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